Are You Mine?
by likemoves
Summary: "'Yes, I'm all right. I'm more than all right. I've been crazy about him since the day I met him. And now this…this is…" A different take on Thanksgiving. Anna/St. Clair from Anna's POV, AU.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **No copyright infringement intended. As I work toward future chapters, I will be updating earlier chapters with more details. Chapters 1 and 2 updated May 2014. Hope you enjoy!

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><p>By the time St. Clair arrives in my room on Saturday night, I've reorganized my entire wardrobe. Twice.<p>

"Am I interrupting?" he asks, eyeing a pile of my shirts.

"Course not," I say. "Just catching up on some laundry."

"Ah, midnight laundry," he says, smirking. "That's some dedication."

I blush, embarrassed. I clean when I'm nervous and, right now, I'm _really, really_ nervous. St. Clair is in his pajamas, in my room.

Holy crap.

He pulls out my desk chair and sits to take off his boots. On anyone else, they would be ridiculous, but on him, they're…not.

"So," he says, placing his boots beside the door. "Any big plans for your final day of freedom?"

"Chores, errands, homework," I say. "It's almost too much excitement for one day."

He laughs. "Well, at least you got a bit of a break," he says. "I know it's not the same as being home for Thanksgiving, but I hope it wasn't _all_ bad."

"It wasn't," I say. "Although maybe I'd think otherwise if we hadn't been able to locate a turkey dinner."

"I'm a lucky bloke then," he says, smiling. "I don't know if I could've handled an Anna deprived of her turkey."

I grab my pillow and thwack him on the shoulder. He lets out a dramatic sigh before falling into a fit of giggles and I thwack him again. "Oooooo," he says. "I'm shaking in my boots."

"Impossible," I say. "Your boots are over there."

He rolls his eyes and walks to pick up his boots, shaking them in the air. I laugh.

"Satisfied?" he asks jokingly.

Hardly, I think to myself, as I place the pillow back down on the bed. I nervously smooth the wrinkles on my bedspread and wonder if tonight will be like the last two nights of sleeping together. Hmmmmm…

"I think you've got it smooth enough," St. Clair says.

"Huh?"

"I said, I think you've got it smooth enough. Your sheets," he says, pointing to the bed.

"Oh, yeah, sorry," I say. "I guess I must be tired."

"Me too," he says. "We should probably get some sleep."

I nod. Yes, sleep, that's exactly what we need.

I lay down on my bed, moving to the side closest to the wall. The light switch clicks and my bed's weight shifts as St. Clair crawls next to me.

This has been our ritual – our exciting, terrifying ritual – for the Thanksgiving weekend. I never thought I'd sleep with a boy without _actually_ sleeping with him, but here we are. In my bed. Again.

I tell myself it's because he's going through a rough time. I mean, his mother has cancer and he doesn't want to be alone, especially during the holidays. And honestly, who would? I'm worried about him. We're all worried about him. It seems to give him some comfort, being here, and it makes me feel good to help out a friend.

But over the past few days, it's been harder to deny the feelings that have been building, the feelings I've tried to wish away. _He has a girlfriend, _I tell myself over and over again. And besides, Meredith has a huge crush on him. She's the first friend I made here, the one who introduced me to everyone else I now call a friend. Including him. _I could never –_

My thoughts are interrupted by the feel of St. Clair's arm, draped against my side. It sends a jolt through me, a rush of a feeling I can't quite understand. I look over to him, already fast asleep, and wonder how much longer we'll be able to do this.

_Why can't things be different?_

The question tosses and turns in my mind until I finally fall asleep.

I wake up startled. My heart is pounding and my palms are sweaty. Gross. I carefully raise my head up to check the time. St. Clair flinches.

"Ah!" I scream. He turns his head toward me, his dark brown eyes wide in surprise.

"Sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," I say, trying to catch my breath. "I just didn't know you were awake. Is everything all right?"

He pauses and looks up at the ceiling.

"Yes…no," he says, biting his thumbnail. "No, I mean, no, I don't know."

He sounds so uneasy, so unlike himself. I turn to face him. "How long have you been awake?"

"I just…"

His voice drifts into the night and my gaze drifts toward him.

"Earlier," he says. "When I was late getting here…"

"You're always late," I say jokingly. "I don't take it personally."

I expect him to laugh, but he doesn't.

"I was late because of my Mum."

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

"She sounded really weak tonight," he continues. "Worse than before."

"I'm sorry," I say, sobering up. "I didn't know."

And it's true. I mean, I know she's sick, but St. Clair rarely reveals to us her day-to-day.

"I'm still not there," he says. "I'm still not there and I should be there, my father be damned."

His voice cracks, ever so slightly, and my heart breaks with it. I never thought any of my friends would have a parent with cancer. Not at this age, at least. It's just completely, totally unfair.

"Your mother knows how much you care about her, how much you love her" I say, placing my hand on his shoulder.

"I should have just bought a plane ticket and gone out there. I should've found a way and I didn't and I _can't_."

"You are doing everything you can," I say, trying to soothe his anger – mainly at himself. "I know you are."

He turns to me and fixes his gaze on his shoulder, where my hand still lays. Neither of us moves.

"Anna," he whispers.

His gaze slowly rises until it meets my own. His eyes are so dark, so intense. I'm speechless.

He edges closer to me. He looks so pained, so conflicted, so unlike the St. Clair I've known.

"Anna," he says again.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Revised May 2014.

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><p>We inch closer until our lips are a breath apart. He breathes out sharply, suddenly, and I breathe it all in.<p>

"Étienne," I whisper.

He grins ever so slightly at the sound of his first name and I feel myself blush in the darkness. In my mind, it's what he's always been, like the day we first met. _Étienne._ _Étienne._

"Say it again," he whispers against my lips.

"Éti-…"

We kiss before I can even finish saying his name.

My mouth opens and his tongue darts in, creating all sorts of sensations I've never felt before. Every part of me feels attuned to him and everything he is, everything he does.

"Are you all right?" he asks after a few moments.

Yes, I'm all right. I'm more than all right. I've been crazy about him since the day I met him. And now this…this is…

"Yeah," I breathe out.

He smiles back – a real, true Étienne smile. Our kisses become deeper and we move closer together in the silence of the night.

"May I – ?" he asks, tugging at the hem of my pajama top.

"Yeah," I mutter.

He lifts my top off and…it hits my desk lamp. Awesome.

"I'll fold it later," he says, laughing.

"Promise?"

"Promise," he says, looking down at my –.

_Oh my God. _

"Hey!" I say, folding my arms across my chest. "My eyes are up here."

He smiles and pushes away from me to take off his own shirt.

"There," he says as it falls to the ground. "Even."

I want to roll my eyes, but instead, I find my gaze transfixed on him. I want to memorize every inch of him, every moment of this night. "_Comme t'es belle_," he whispers as he kisses every inch of my exposed skin.

His words and his movements send instincts I never knew I had into overdrive. I grab at his hair and hook my leg around him, intoxicated by the feel of his skin hot on mine. My heel digs at his back and I press myself closer, closer, closer to him.

After a few more moments, he groans against me, practically breathless, and flips me on my back.

"If we keep going like this…" he says, panting.

I think about the cemetery. _I ask myself if the worst happened – would I be embarrassed to tell my child who his father was? _I think about the condoms Nate threw at us last night. _Oh my God, how humiliating_.

And, to my own surprise, I think about where they might be right now.

"I know," I say. "I don't want to stop."

He looks away for a moment toward the nightstand. "Anna," he says. "You know how much I want to, you know how much I…"

"I want this, too," I say quietly.

I wrap my arms around his shoulders and he leans in, kissing the top of my head. He pushes himself up and walks toward my desk, grabbing a familiar silver square from his wallet. He turns back to me, his smile back in place.

"Whatever you want," he says. "Anything you want."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N**: Updated May 2014.

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><p><em>I just slept with Étienne. I just slept with Étienne.<em>

The thought goes through my mind, again and again, as I wake up with the sunrise.

I peek a glance at the normally empty space next to me – a space that's now filled by a naked guy who was my friend and is now, well, I'm not sure what.

He's so beautiful, so perfect.

I feel myself blush as the details of last night replay through my mind. Being with him wasn't gross or disgusting – it was exciting. It made me understand what all the big fuss was about.

I only wish I could tell it to someone else.

"Hmmmm," Étienne says, his voice groggy from sleep. "Morning, Anna."

"Good morning."

He pulls me toward him for a kiss, his stubble rubbing slightly against my skin. I never knew he had stubble, or that he had to shave, or that he was such a good kisser. But I do now.

_Focus, Anna. Focus._

"What time is it?" he asks. I glance over to the clock on my nightstand.

"Seven," I say.

"Right, then, still early," he says, kissing me again. "Do you mind if I wash up?"

"No, of course not."

He slithers down the bed and walks around the small area of the floor, picking up his discarded clothes. He sits down at my desk chair, his hair even messier than normal, and I turn to watch him slowly dress again.

Even in his pajama and boots combination, he's sexy.

"Do you always sleep like that?" he asks, getting up from the chair.

"You already know the answer to that," I say, blushing as his eyes take in the length of my body covered only with my blanket.

"Right, it's much too cold," he says, smiling to himself. "But perhaps it's worth some consideration."

I grin as he comes back over to kiss me.

"I'll be back soon, all right?" he says. "We'll get crepes. My treat."

"You don't have to – "

"I want to," he says. "I want to spend the morning with you."

After he leaves, I get up and splash some water on my face from the sink. I stare at my reflection in the mirror. My face looks a bit rosier, but my hair is very noticeably out of control. I take my brush and comb through it until it's smooth again.

It dawns on me that there can be no evidence of last night – especially anything of the visual variety – and it makes my heart race just a bit more.

I look for my duster and bounce around the room, cleaning and rearranging everything to the way it was before. As I walk past my nightstand, I see Étienne's cell phone, a new message flickering on the screen:

_I miss you too babe. See you tonight. XOXO._


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Updated May 2014

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><p>When Étienne returns, he remains blissfully unaware of what's just happened. <em>Jerk.<em>

"I should've had you come upstairs with me," he says as he opens the door, dressed for the day. "Would've made that cold shower much more bearable."

"I bet," I say bitterly through my tears. I would have loved nothing more than to do that, say, 30 minutes ago. But now it's different. Now I lay on my bed, motionless, not sure what anything means anymore.

He walks over toward my bed, alarmed at the sight of tears I desperately wish I could hide.

"Hey," he says, coming closer. "What's wrong? Is everything all right?"

"No, it's not," I say slowly, turning myself away from him. "Check your cell phone."

"Fuck," he says. "I can't believe he would..."

He quickly grabs the phone and checks for messages. It dawns on me that he thought it was about his mother, not…_her._

"Oh," he says sadly at the evidence in front of him. "Anna, I'm really sorry. I don't – "

"I knew you were still with her," I say calmly. "I just didn't think that you…that you…"

"Would miss her?" he asks, his tone suddenly bitter. "We've been together for a while now. We do still…"

His voice trails off and I turn to face him again, unable to comprehend the words from his mouth.

"What is it that you do, St. Clair?"

Silence.

"Come on, tell me! What is it that you do with her?!"

St. Clair shifts uncomfortably under my stare. His face looks pained, angered, but not enough to make me feel any better about our current situation.

"So, what was all of this?" I ask, gesturing toward my bed, my tears stronger than before. "Some kind of game? Some kind of sick, twisted game?"

Color flushes across his face.

"I wish I could tell you it was," he finally says. "I wish I could tell you everything that happened last night meant nothing to me. But it's not that easy, Anna. It never is."

His voice cracks at the end and it brings me back to the emotions of last night, the emotions that led us to the complete breakdown that is today. It takes all my strength not to cave in at the sound of his pain, and of my pain, too.

"Please," I plead. "Just…leave."

"You don't mean that," he says, turning toward the door.

"Go!" I scream.

He slams the door behind him and I sob against my pillow, louder than I've ever sobbed before.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N**: Thank you for all of your views and reviews! I really appreciate all your feedback and patience as I continue with this story!

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><p>If ever there were a time to have my best friend at my side, this would be it.<p>

Unfortunately, mine is thousands of miles away and completely, utterly silent. It's so unlike her to not respond to texts, or calls, or voicemails.

_Ugh._

I've resorted to writing furiously in my notebook and tearing it all to shreds in the hope that somehow, someway, this will all go away.

As night falls over Paris, I nibble on cookies and force myself to do something – anything – but think about him. Yet he's everywhere I look, everywhere I feel. It's like he's become a part of my very being and everything reminds me of him. Even these stupid, stale cookies remind me of him and his insistence that I eat real, proper French food.

"Hey, are you alive in there?"

I jump at the sound of Josh's voice outside my door. I hadn't even noticed the sound of my classmates returning to Lambert.

I stay silent, hoping he goes away. I'm not sure I can face him – or anyone – right now.

"Anna, I can see your light on," he says. "Are you all right?"

"One sec," I say, propping myself up from my bed. I run over to the mirror and ensure that I look about as normal as I possible can at this moment. My skin is blotchy from crying, but I'll just have to make do.

I open the door quietly. "Hey, how was your vacation?" I ask, hoping to deflect attention away from me.

"Oh, you know, the usual," he says, looking at me quizzically. "Are you sure you're all right?"

I close the door behind him, concerned that Josh's presence – and my apparent appearance of not being "all right" – will attract attention.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I whisper. "Just tired, I guess."

Josh nods, but he doesn't look convinced. I'm glad, though, that he doesn't push me any further on the subject.

I like him. He's a good guy. But he's usually in his own world, forever drawing or making out with Rashmi, which makes his presence at my door somewhat unusual.

"Have you seen St. Clair?" he asks. "None of us heard from him over Thanksgiving break. Rash and Mer are starting to freak out a bit."

And there it is. "He should be around," I say, barely meeting his gaze. "I saw him during the break. He's doing…okay."

Concern flashes in Josh's eyes and, for a moment, I'm touched that he and St. Clair are such good friends. Sometimes it feels like they're brothers, with each admiring the other in a way that's far removed – and far more mature – than the world of Daves and Mikes.

"Maybe I should check the pub," Josh says. "He could be there."

"Or with Ellie," I say, the words painful against my lips. "He's probably with her."

"I doubt it."

The way Josh says it – as if there was _no way_ Étienne would be with her – makes me wonder what exactly he knows of their relationship. The text message this morning all but presumed an inevitable, PDA-filled reunion between the two.

"I'm going to head to the pub," he says. "Wanna come?"

"Won't it be past curfew?"

"And?" Josh says, a devilish smile on his face.

"I don't want to get caught," I say.

"You won't get caught," he says. "Nate won't care."

He's right. Josh could be as convincing as Étienne when he wanted to be, but tonight, I didn't want to tempt the fates. I'd already gotten away with one thing. A second would be asking for too much.

Besides, I didn't want to see him. I really, really didn't want to see him.

"Text us when you find him," I say, carefully choosing my words.

Josh nods and quietly exits my room. I stare out my window and see him walk away from Lambert. Considering how concerned Josh said Rash and Mer were about St. Clair, it's odd to see him alone out there, by himself, in search of his friend.

Everything is so weird now.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N**: A meditative chapter before the pace picks up again. Reviews are appreciated!

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><p>The 30 text messages on my phone the next morning confirm Josh's suspicions.<p>

Étienne was most definitely at the pub. And he got really, really drunk.

Most of the texts are unintelligible – pretty much the written form of slurred words – but a few have words I can understand. Words like "fuck" and "sorry" and "love."

If my phone weren't so expensive, I'd throw it against the wall right now and watch it shatter into a thousand pieces. Maybe that would dull the ache I feel in my stomach thinking about him.

A part of me wants to avoid breakfast, but I know I can't in a small place like this. My friends would get suspicious but, even worse, so would the many I don't call friends. They're the ones who thought I was sleeping with St. Clair long before I actually did.

I grit my teeth and force myself to the cafeteria Monday morning.

_Breathe, Anna. Breathe_.

When I get there, I'm surprised to find everyone at the table – even St. Clair. I avoid his gaze, but I feel his burn right through me.

"Hey!" Mer says cheerily. "How was your Thanksgiving, Anna?"

"Good, yours?" I say reflexively.

"Decent," she says. "But part of me wishes I'd stayed here. It's so hard going back home after you've been away for so long."

St. Clair looks at her and winces. I know – we all know – he would've given anything to go back home to see his mother.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" Mer says. "I wasn't thinking. God, you know what meant, St. Clair. I should've had said…"

"It's okay," he says, but the tone suggests otherwise. I finally peak a glance at him and see just how terrible he looks. His eyes are red, with dark circles underneath, and he looks like he hasn't slept in days.

He looks as bad as I feel.

Étienne pushes a piece of dry toast around his plate as the conversation picks up again. Whenever the conversation lulls or veers into sensitive territory, Josh steers it back to safer topics – a job once reserved for Étienne.

It breaks my heart just a little bit more.

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><p>The next few months are a blur, a daze.<p>

We pretend as if nothing's changed – but, in reality, everything has changed.

Christmas came and went and I soon realized what Meredith meant about going home after so long. I didn't feel at home in my home. I felt disconnected. To make everything worse, my best friend was suddenly living the life I would've been living if I stayed in Atlanta. A part of me was as jealous of that as she was of my "fancy life" in Paris.

If she only knew.

Josh and Rashmi were fighting with alarming regularity. Meredith often tried to be the peacemaker, but even she, the eternal optimist, got tired of all the drama. Though she still looked longingly at Étienne, she was spending more time away from all of us – and more time with her soccer friends outside of school.

Which basically left me alone.

The things I used to do with Étienne – the cinema, the shops, the parks – I now did on my own. It was incredibly freeing to know that I could function in another language and in another country without anyone's help, but there was also something incredibly painful that, too.

I missed Étienne. I missed him so much.

I barely saw him outside of school. When I did, we exchanged few words, if any. I hadn't seen Ellie with him since autumn, but I knew she was still very much a part of his life.

I would see him sneak in late from my window and, on a few occasions, come back very, very early into his room at Lambert. His hair and clothes were always disheveled. It didn't take much more for me to realize where he'd been and what he'd been up to.

I wondered if it would ever stop bothering me.


	7. Chapter 7

I wake up on the morning of my 18th birthday to the sounds of "Happy Birthday" being sung outside my door.

"Come on, Anna, open up!" Meredith says. "We've got a big day ahead for you!"

I open my door, surprised to see the four of them in front of me. I'm touched by the gesture – it almost feels like how things were at the beginning of the year.

Except with St. Clair, of course. He's noticeably silent with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Part of me hates that I still notice these things.

"It's time to get you drunk," Josh says. "Happy birthday drunk."

"Later," Rashmi says.

"Yeah, it's only 11 a.m., Josh," Meredith says.

"Whatever," Josh says, grinning. "It's five o'clock somewhere."

"Come on!" Meredith says, taking me by that hand. "We have plenty more to do before then."

Josh dramatically sighs and I laugh. I'm nervous at the prospect of going out _out_ with my friends, but it's the one thing I haven't done yet. And it's not even illegal here.

Fortunately, we start out with something I do know – my favorite crepe place. I order my usual – a crèpe filled with strawberries, bananas, and glorious, glorious Nutella.

_Nom. _

The server brings mine out first to the table, but St. Clair quickly grabs it away.

"Hey!" I shout. "What are you doing?"

He looks at me and, without a word, pulls a small birthday candle and a lighter out of his jacket pocket.

"Happy birthday," he says. "Make a wish."

His first words of the day to me nearly take my breath away. His hushed tone brings me back to Thanksgiving weekend. _How beautiful you are. Anything you want. Everything you want. _

Blushing at the recollection, I close my eyes and blow out the candle, making my own secret wish.

By 10 that night, we've more than exceeded our daily-recommended allowance of sugar and caffeine from crèpes, coffee, and treats we snuck into the cinema that afternoon. I'm practically bouncing off the walls of Lambert, which vibrate with the bass of loud music being blasted from neighboring rooms.

It makes it that much harder to concentrate on getting ready for my first real night out. My limited assortment of clothes doesn't help, either.

_Breathe, Anna. Breathe._

"Hey," Rashmi says, knocking on my door. "You almost ready?"

"Um…"

"Do you need help?" she asks.

I breathe a sigh of relief and open the door. "Yes," I say. "I have no idea what to wear."

Rashmi glances at me and, for once, it doesn't feel condescending. I wonder silently what I did – or didn't do – to deserve this.

"Mind if I look at your closet?"

"Go for it," I say.

She goes through my small wardrobe and pulls out a couple items. "Here," she says, handing me a white tank top and a black skirt that grazes well above my knees. "Try these on."

My face turns red. I've never worn either of these items without several other layers.

"You don't want to wear too much," Rashmi says. "Clubs get really, really hot."

I nod and quietly try on the combination while Rashmi continues to go through my wardrobe. In a matter of minutes, I'm in front of my mirror, barely recognizable to myself.

"Wow, Anna," Rashmi says, turning toward me again. "You look amazing."

"Thanks," I say, tugging at my skirt. Why is it so short? Was it always this short?

"He's going to be so jealous."

My eyes go wide at Rashmi's words. She couldn't know. No, no, she couldn't!

"It's okay, Anna," she says, her voice lower. "It's only Josh and I who know."

"Oh, only two people?" I say. "That's great. How could he!"

Tears threaten to spill from my eyes and ruin the remainder of my birthday.

"He didn't tell us," Rashmi says. "No matter how stupid he's been in the past few months, he would never tell a soul. Not even the one person who should know."

_Ellie_.

Her name goes unspoken, but I feel the weight of it on my tongue.

"They haven't been right," Rashmi says. "Not for a long time. But St. Clair is stubborn. He'll never leave her, even if it's the right thing to do."

I nod. Part of me has always known this to be true – even if the wishful part thought, maybe, just maybe…

"How do you know what happened?" I ask.

"Josh and I got back early on that Sunday," Rashmi says. "We went to Lambert right away to have time to…ourselves. Before everyone came back. We heard the argument and knew right away something happened. It's the only reason he's ever awake at that hour on the weekend."

"Please don't tell anyone," I say quietly. "It wasn't supposed to happen."

"Really?" Rashmi asks sarcastically. "Have you ever seen how he looks at you? It's like he's always undressing you with his eyes."

I blush at her words. Her – their – knowledge of Étienne makes my head spin. It reminds me of their shared history and all the things I don't know about him.

What I _do _know is what my heart feels when we're together, when I experience that other side of him. That vulnerable side that no one else sees – not even them.

Before I have a chance to respond, a knock startles us both at the door...


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thank you for all of your follows, favorites, reviews, and, of course, patience for the next update! I hope you enjoy it.

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><p>"Taxi's here!" Meredith shouts. "Are you ready to go?"<p>

My eyes widen, but Rashmi gives me a reassuring pat on the back. _What has gotten into her?_

"Yeah, we're ready," she says, opening the door.

"Wow, Anna!" Meredith says as I walk out. "You look great!"

She looks me over with a smile, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. I tug at my skirt, still uncomfortable at how little fabric I have on my body.

We descend quickly down the stairs and out the door. The boys casually wait outside.

"Wait, where's the taxi?" Meredith says. "You guys!"

Rashmi groans. "Looks like _someone_ was getting impatient waiting for us." She glares sharply in St. Clair's direction, but he doesn't respond. In fact, he barely seems to be paying any attention at all. _Great_.

"It's fine," I say. "We can walk."

And walk we do, down the familiar streets near SOAP and into a neighboring _arrondissement_. The long-simmering tensions between us seem to be rising again, and we're quiet until we reach a red door with a sign I can't quite make out above it.

"Is this it?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah," St. Clair says, his first words to me this evening. "It'll be fun. Trust me."

I bite my tongue as I think back to the last time I trusted him. _And look how well that turned out_. But as I look around to Josh, Rashmi, and Meredith, they don't seem anywhere near as concerned as I do about going in. Maybe they've even been here before.

The thought calms my nerves – somewhat.

St. Clair opens the door and leads us down a flight of creaky stairs. He nods to a man near the bar as we enter what appears to be a very packed basement club. Dance music pounds out the speakers and I can barely hear myself think.

"I'll get us some drinks," Josh screams out.

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><p>"<em>Santé<em>!"

"_Santé_!"

"_Santé!_"

We clink our glasses together for the third, fourth, maybe fifth time this evening. _Or is it morning now?_ I hold up my fruity drink – the one Meredith insisted I try – and gulp it back, savoring the sweetness on my lips. Who knew drinking could feel and taste this good?

I set down my glass and scream in recognition of the song now playing louder and louder in the club. Rashmi and Meredith each take one of my hands and we maneuver ourselves onto the club's tiny dance floor.

I've never danced in front of anyone, not even my friends in Atlanta, but suddenly I don't care. I don't care at all. I pretend I'm in my room back home, dancing by myself, and all my inhibitions go away.

Sweat drips all over me as we dance harder and harder, shouting along to the words at the top of our lungs. It's so loud I doubt anyone can hear us now. My hair and clothes stick to me and I feel free, free, free.

My eyes drift open and close until they spot him, looking at me as if I'm the sun, the center of his universe. I feel my own hands run up and down my torso and watch as his jaw drops.

_Hunger_.

I thought it was something I'd only ever see in my beloved movies. But I see it now, right in front of me, in the most gorgeous guy I've ever seen. _Étienne. My Étienne._ I twirl around and sway my hips to the beat, watching as his fists clench tighter and tighter.

Finally I can't take it anymore and neither can he. All the hurt, all the pain, all the uncertainty since Thanksgiving – it washes away as we finally touch on the floor. He brings his hands to my hips and I instinctively turn around. Our hips move intrinsically in sync and the rhythm is more intoxicating than anything I've ever felt before.

I can't deny him; I can't deny this any longer. The songs change but our touch remains the same. Josh has joined Rashmi and Meredith. No one gives us a second thought, a second glance. It sends an illicit thrill through me.

Before Étienne, I couldn't even name what this was or how it would feel. I had my sense of right and wrong and nothing in between. But I've realized it's messy. All of it is messy.

I grab on tighter to him and feel his lips trail down my neck. His hands brush against my thighs, higher and higher, and his breath goes hot against my skin. There's nothing tentative about this. It's nothing like Thanksgiving.

It's me, and him, and –

"God damn it, St. Clair!"


End file.
